


cheer up, baby

by starblessed



Series: everything you ever want, everything you ever need [3]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: (but not for long), Babies, Childbirth, F/M, Pregnancy, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: No one expects the baby to decide it’s ready to come out in the middle of the show. It just sort of… happens.Phillip has been by Anne's side through every stage of the pregnancy. He's satisfied her cravings, soothed her through night terrors, massaged her aching back, and made her laugh when the insecurity of having a family weighed too heavily upon them both. He's done everything, and been all Anne could have asked for.So it's really not fair that he's about to miss his child's birth.





	cheer up, baby

**Author's Note:**

> i had a bunch of people asking me about anne and phillip's kids, wanting me to write something for that, after my five times fic... so, i'm making a series to keep all my little family fics in one place! just so i have the little verse all put together.
> 
> this is for the darling anon who wanted to see phillip help anne through her pregnancy/birth (he would be The Best pregnancy dad, btw -- ready for almost anything) and for the other anon who wanted an unexpected birth! forgive the sickening fluff -- because it does get really, really cavity-inducing at the end.
> 
> also, minor descriptions of childbirth/labor, but nothing at all graphic.

No one expects the baby to decide it’s ready to come out in the middle of the show. It just sort of… happens.

To be fair, Anne’s been prepared for this for a while. There have been a few false alarms, moment when she was sure the baby was coming, only to be disappointed. She and Phillip still have a few weeks left, so they know there’s no reason to hold their breath, but still…

They’re holding it. They’re holding it until their faces turn blue, because they’re both very aware that there is a _child_ in Anne’s stomach, ready to come out whenever it pleases.

So, they might be ready, but they’re not expecting it when it happens.

Anne hasn’t performed for months. If anyone thought that would keep her away from the show, they underestimated her work ethic (or stubbornness). The Barnum circus has become renowned for its acrobats, so if she can’t soar through the sky, she’ll still help instruct the aspiring young daredevils who can.

She and W.D. have gotten a few apprentices. There’s Marga, a German woman who can bend in ways no human ought to be able; when she expressed an interest in the trapeze, Anne was glad to teach her. W.D. has taken on Sly, a fast-footed newspaper boy, and seems proud to have an apprentice to impart his wisdom too. Sly looks up to his mentor like W.D.’s a king; Anne finds it hilarious. Celestine is their last instructee, a young woman who saw the show one night and showed up the morning after, pleading with the nearest performer to “introduce her to the acrobats”. She’s proven her interest is more than a passing hobby. Celestine has sharp reflexes and good form; more importantly, she’s willing to work hard. She’s quickly become Anne’s favorite student.

She’s not a natural-born teacher, and doubts she’ll be mentoring for long. As long as she can’t be in the air herself, however, she’ll find the patience to guide others. (Anything to get her close to the trapeze, just for a while.)

Anne isn’t instructing tonight. She’s watching Marga and Sly take their turns in the sky. It’s Sly’s first show, so W.D. insisted they all come out to watch him.

Anne sits in the wings, flanked by her brother on one side and Celestine on the other. The bleachers are packed tonight, not one empty seat in the house. Saturday is always their most crowded night; and, as Phillip will readily admit, his favorite show. The audience is more receptive, going wild for every act. It seems like the colors are a little brighter, the music a little louder; the energy is infectious. Saturdays tend to be everyone’s favorite nights (not just because the circus has the next day off).

Anne is busy watching the opening number. As the elephants stampede around the ring, she licks the crumbs of an apple tart off her fingers. (She’s had the worst craving for apple tarts lately — as well as peanut butter, oregano, and sauerkraut. Phillip’s jumped through hoops to keep her appetite satisfied.) That’s the moment she feels it.

Her stomach has been hurting all day — for the past few days, honestly — but that’s nothing strange. It only felt like a dull ache, interspersed with the occasional cramps. Nothing to get all hot and bothered about.

But this — this is a stabbing pain.

It snatches her breath, sets her insides on fire. Nothing could have prepared her. No pain she’s ever felt before compares.

It’s _agony._

She doesn’t realize she’s literally doubled forward until the pain begins to recede, a solid minute later. Her arms are wrapped around her stomach. Slowly, she manages a breath. That’s when she becomes aware of the panic around her.

“Anne? Anne, what is it, what’s wrong —“ W.D. is hovering over her, hand on her back like she might fly away if he doesn’t hold her. Poor Celestine, a mousy girl with eyes as large as dinner plates on a good day, looks close to fainting.

“I’m okay,” Anne huffs out. “I’m fine. I — oh god.”

Sharp, brutal pain can only mean one thing. Anne’s never done this before, but she’s got a clue how it all works.

Maybe, _maybe_ she should have paid more attention to that earlier stomachache.

W.D.’s eyes are going huge too. He seems to realize at the same moment Anne does. To say he’s not ready is an understatement. “It’s not happening now?”

“I don’t know,” Anne shoots back. “I don’t _know_.”

“What was that?”

“ _Pain_ , that’s what that was, but I don’t know if it’s coming back, or —“ Her words die in her throat as she contemplated her first child being born in the middle of Barnum’s circus. “Oh, _dammit."_

“More pain?” W.D. looks terrified.

“No! But I don’t want to have a baby _here_ —“ She bites back her words again. Celestine’s alarmed squeak at her side pretty much sums up how she’s feeling. At once, the situation seems urgent. She grips her brother’s arm tight enough to bruise. “I would really like to get somewhere private,” she tells him.

Maybe there’s hope. Maybe they can load her into a cab and send her back to the apartment she and Phillip share before things get worse. They can call upon their midwife neighbor, just as they planned all along. Anne can be safe at home, have the baby, and wake up in her own bed tomorrow morning. Phillip can be there to watch his child be born.

As soon as they get out of the main circus tent, it becomes obvious that this isn’t happening.

Anne spits out a word that her late mother would smack her for as she doubles over; were it not for W.D.’s grip on her shoulders, she’d faceplant right into the mud. By the time she rides out this wave of pain, she can hear her brother cursing under _his_ breath.

“My tent,” he declares. “Now."

Anne knows when she’s beat. “Good idea.”

* * *

It’s really unfair. Phillip has gone above and beyond in the last few months — not that Anne expected any less. It was Phillip who made dinner so many nights, when Anne was too tired and achy to get out of bed. Phillip brought her books to read while she sat on the couch during the long hours she couldn’t spend at work. Phillip tracked down food at strange hours to satisfy her cravings. Phillip soothed her after the nightmares that began in her seventh month, shushing her back to calmness and hugging her close, rubbing her back and stomach, until they both dozed off again.

Phillip’s done everything, and he can’t even be here for this.

The average show lasts two hours, without any intermission (Barnum always insisted that “intermission is just a chance for the audience to get bored!”). The ringmaster is in front of the crowd for most of that time. In just two hours, Phillip will be a free man.

But this baby does not want to wait.

The pains are coming quicker now — about seven minutes apart. Each one is worse than the last. Anne, who’s always had a high tolerance and is adaptable to a fault, would have thought she’d get used to it by now; she isn’t.

“You’re doing amazing, _cariña_ ,” Rosalia — Barnum’s resident snake-charmer, who grew up in a family of midwives — encourages. She gives Anne’s hand a tight squeeze, but pulls away too soon. Rosalia is busy tracking the baby’s progress, and Anne wouldn’t want her to do anything else, but that doesn’t make the pain any more bearable. In exchange, she just grips Celestine’s hand tighter.

(The girl has strong hands, in contrast to her tiny body. Still, Anne worries about crushing her.)

“Do I start pushing yet?” She knows that’s what’s supposed to happen, but doesn’t know when. “Should I push?”

“Not yet! I’ll tell you when!”

Another wave of pain washes over Anne, sweeping her from her senses. All she can see is white; all she can hear is the roar of her own screams in her ears. When it draws back, it’s like the lights switching back on all at once.

She forces her eyes open to see a new face peering worriedly down at her — Lettie.

“How you doing, sweetheart?”

“Never been better,” Anne pants, forcing a smile. “Absolutely great.”

Celestine gratefully passes her duties as hand-holder to the newcomer. Lettie takes her place by Anne’s side, stroking her hand down her sweaty curls. The sight of her friend calms Anne almost as much as her husband would.

Speak of the devil. “We got the news to Phillip during the knife-tossing act. There wasn’t time for him to make it here, but he wants to end the show early —“

“He wants to _what?”_

“To stop the show,” Lettie repeats. “Anne, he wants to be here. He’s bouncing off the walls right now.”

Of all the ridiculous ideas Phillip’s ever had, this tops the list. There are a lot of things Anne could understand, but stopping an entire show just because of a tiny crisis? Boy must be out of his mind. Barnum’s has got a better reputation than that, they’ve got a better work ethic — and more respect for their audience.

As much as Anne wants Phillip here, stopping the show isn’t an option.

“Lettie,” Anne hisses, “you go out there and tell my husband that I don’t care if a whole elephant’s comin’ outta me, he does _not_ stop this damn show!”

Lettie looks startled. “But —“

“You heard me. No show, no baby!”

“Doesn’t work like that, honey,” Rosalia pipes up.

 _“Tell him,_ Lettie!”

Spooked, Lettie rushes off, bearing the important message. Anne takes a few seconds to breathe heavily, wondering if she really made the right call (she wants to believe she did, but the part of her not screaming in pain is screaming that she’s an _idiot_ ). Then a new wave of pain washes over her, and it all starts over again.

 _“Celestine!”_ she manages to groan, arm shooting out towards the girl once more. Obligingly, Celestine grips her hand once again.

* * *

They try to stop Phillip before he can get inside Anne’s tent.

“You can’t go in there,” W.D. insists, arms out to hold him back. At his brother-in-law’s side, Phillip can see Prince Constantine trying to keep him from rushing forward; Chang and Eng have arms on both sides of him, pulling him away. W.D.’s tent is lit up, busy silhouettes rushing around inside. There is no way for Phillip to make out a his wife laying down, but he can hear her. Anne’s agonized screams pierce the night.

He can’t stand it. Listening to her without being by her side is a torture worse than any he could imagine.

“Let me go,” he exclaims. “I have to see her! She’s in pain, I need to be there with her!”

Staying behind and finishing the show was an impossible enough feat, but Phillip somehow managed. He didn’t even stay to wave goodbye to the crowds filing out of the tent. He rushed straight back, driven by his pounding heart and frantic mind, towards where he knew his wife would be.

This is the moment. Anne is giving birth to their _baby,_ and he can’t be apart from her.

“Carlyle, you’re not gonna be able to stand seeing her like this!”

Phillip doesn’t care. He ran into an inferno for Anne and never regretted it. Nothing is capable of keeping him away from her while she’s in pain.

He breaks out of his friends’ holds, and takes off towards the tent. No one can stop him, though he hears them try. He is solely focused on making it inside, getting to Anne, holding her and making sure she knows that he’s here.

“Anne!”

His voice heralds his arrival a second before he bursts through the tent opening. What he sees is enough to stop his heart.

Anne is braced against the cot, face twisting in agony, as she howls through another contraction. A sheet is draped over her lap, so Phillip is spared seeing the full gore of what the midwife must be looking at, but Anne’s suffering is awful enough for him. The next thing he knows, his knees are hitting the dirt at her side.

“Anne, I’m here, Annie, honey, I’m right here -- you’re doing good, you’re doing so good --”

Celestine gives him Anne’s hand, and Phillip endures her bone-crushing grip. As her back arches against the cot, he holds her tight and keeps murmuring to her. “It’s going to be okay… you’re doing great, you’re going to be okay…”

_(God, he prays that’s true.)_

When Anne’s screams fade away, she is able to open her eyes. Hazy with pain and brimming over with tears, they still lock on Phillip with a raptness that takes his breath away.

“You’re here,” she whispers. “You’re here.”

“I’ve got you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m right here. We’re gonna get through this.”

Anne’s gaze settles on him, so loving, so relieved, that Phillip is overwhelmed by gratitude that he made it in time. He couldn’t imagine missing this for the world.

“Alright,” Rosalia says from the end of the cot. “It’s time. Are you ready?”

Anne gives his hand a tight squeeze, and that’s all the reassurance Phillip needs.

* * *

When the dust settles and the night has faded into silence, they have a little boy with coal dark eyes.

“He looks like you,” Anne murmurs, tracing the line of her sleeping baby’s face. “It’s all in the chin.”

“Really? I think he’s got more of you in him.” He certainly has Anne’s impeccable sense of timing. The baby’s hair curls too (what few curls he has), dark and loose, while his nose is almost an exact mirror of Anne’s own. Phillip would have loved their son if he came out with dog ears and a tail, but the fact that he mirrors Anne in so many ways guarantees that his heart is won.

Anne studies the tiny red bundle in her arms, and the smile that stretches across her face is enough to leave Phillip’s eyes burning. He cried a little bit just after their son was born; he doesn’t to do it again, not now, when his tears are guaranteed to wake the infant. Still, he can’t help sniffling, and Anne notices.

“Hey. Get it together, Carlyle. We still gotta name this boy, remember.”

 _Names._ That’s been a contentious topic since the day Anne told him she was pregnant in the first place. Phillip’s got a lot of names in mind -- names that he _loves._ Anne has her own… strong opinions.

“Phillip Bailey Carlyle,” she said more than once, “there is no way we’re naming our baby Desdemona or Horatio!”

In Phillip’s opinion, naming their baby after an iconic literary hero makes perfect sense. Since Anne clearly has something against Shakespeare, he suggested alternatives. Anything by Dickens was out; Hugo was too French, and too long-winded; Marlowe was too obscure; Scott too antique. By the time Phillip ran out of suggestions, Anne had a few of her own, but they all… fell flat. Anyone could name their child Marie or Robert. Even Anne didn’t seem satisfied with her own ideas.

Now, more than ever, it’s obvious that their baby deserves something perfect.

Phillip gazes down at his son, and resists the urge to cup his tiny head; he strokes Anne’s curls instead. “Is it bad that I still want Shakespeare?”

She sighs, and the smile on her lips is the only thing that reassures him that she isn’t as annoyed as she pretends to be. “I spent nine months getting him here. I think I have a right to name him.”

“And I was your staunch supporter, so I have the right to veto.”

Anne regards him levelly. Phillip stares back, fluttering his eyes in a way that usually makes her burst out laughing. She’s too tired now, though; she just sighs again, tilting her head back against the pillows.

“Why don’t we compromise?” she tries. “William.”

“Like William Shakespeare?” he asks. “Or... like W.D.? _William_ Davis Wheeler?”

Anne doesn’t need to flutter her eyes. She only looks up at him under her heavy lashes, offering a tiny smile. “Say it’s both?”

Phillip was won over before the words left her lips.

“Okay. In that case, the middle name…”

“I had an idea for that, too,” Anne confesses. “But by all means, go ahead.”

Phillip hesitates. If Anne already had a name in mind, he doesn’t want to override her; but he did make a promise, and he wants to carry through. “Well… it’s alright if you don’t like it, but I was thinking… I was talking to Barnum, and he mentioned that if our first child was a boy --”

Anne’s head shoots up, nearly jostling the child in her arms. “He didn’t!” she hisses. “That no good _trick_ of a man!”

Understanding dawns as Phillip takes in her affronted expression. “What did he say to you?”

 _“'Taylor is an awfully nice middle name,’”_ she mimics, in a surprisingly on-point impression of their friend. The words ring familiar; Phillip groans. It seems Barnum was clever enough to pull both parents aside at different times; he’s always been good at pushing his own agenda.

“We shouldn’t give him a middle name at all, just for that,” he mutters. Anne is chuckling now, though, as if she’s gotten past the stage of being offended and now finds the whole conspiracy ridiculous. Seeing her laugh helps dull Phillip’s own sting of betrayal.

“I dunno. I think _William Taylor Carlyle_ has a handsome ring to it.”

“It’s a wonderful name,” he agrees. “I’d even say perfect.”

Anne’s chuckles descend into giggles, which leads into a full-on laughing fit. Phillip quickly takes the baby from her arms as she turns into the pillow, pressing it over her face to muffle herself. After a few seconds, she gives up. Exhaustion lines her face, but her mirth is so infection that he can’t help laughing as well. His wildest dreams couldn’t have prepared him for this night, this moment. He has a son with the most beautiful woman in the world.

Looking at Anne, then looking at William, Phillip decides that it’s true; he must be the luckiest man alive.

* * *

When Anne looks at her husband, cradling their baby in his arms like he’s some sort of precious treasure, she gasps through her laughter and feels tears threaten all over again. Never in a million years could she have imagined her life playing out so beautifully… but she wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
